


Bedelia's fears

by orphan_account



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 04:59:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4126255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Florence at night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bedelia's fears

**Author's Note:**

> it's apparently becoming a pattern that I must write fic for each episode of the new season. Spoilers for 3x01.

Florence at night is a sight to behold. The lights illuminate the wet streets, laughter of late night walkers vanishes behind corners. The city’s beauty is ancient but like all ancient things, it also hears the footsteps of someone who doesn’t belong. 

The hem of her dress stays just above the wet streets, her footsteps light and quick. The smile on her face is a stretched, unnatural and thin but to everyone else it must seem like a genuine one. Bedelia hand rests on Hannibal’s arm, his eyes dark and scanning the streets. One corner of his mouth has quirked up in a barely-there smirk. Her grip tightens, he raises an eyebrow. 

“The street is very slippery,” she remarks, glad to hear how steady her voice stays. She looks ahead when he looks at her. It had been easier to look him in the eye when he had been pretending and she had felt the warm light of her apartment around her. Now in another city, another country to where she had followed him, she much feels like her next step will lead to oblivion. 

“Indeed. We are almost there,” Hannibal’s murmur seems to come from somewhere high above. Bedelia doesn’t look at him, finds it easier once they’re inside the manor and once they have both slipped on their roles, their masks. Still. She looks at him and feels the blood still sticky on her fingers. She looks at him and he looks back and all she sees are the ripped stitches of his humanity, the beast that he truly is. 

Is Will Graham still alive? She had asked. He hadn’t answered but perhaps his silence, his dead eyes gleaming with amusement had been an answer enough. She doesn’t let her hands shake until they’re outside once more and her feet are aching from dancing, mouth trembling from the stretched smile that she holds onto until they’re back home. 

“Take a bath, Bedelia,” Hannibal says and Bedelia almost expects his words to come out of his mouth as drops of blood, the floor to crack and splinter under his heavy footsteps. What is this? Fear? She takes a bath, she dresses in her night gown and takes a sip of whiskey. Turns her back on Hannibal’s looming presence, certain that once she turns, he will be a shadow, his horns throwing pitch-black curtains over the bedroom. 

She never does tell him that each night, when she closes her eyes, she hears the distant, steady clip-clop of hooves.


End file.
